


The Last Three Spellmans

by jj-heart (myjoyandcomfort)



Series: A Lost Niece [1]
Category: Chilling Adventures of Sabrina (TV 2018)
Genre: Family Feels, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Hopeful Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Loss, Zelda has a hard time dealing, over tea of course, the Spellmans sit down and discuss their feelings, they need it and we need it as well
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-17
Updated: 2021-01-17
Packaged: 2021-03-15 10:21:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,694
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28811862
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/myjoyandcomfort/pseuds/jj-heart
Summary: A couple of days ago, the Spellman sisters and their nephew buried two bodies: Sabrina Morningstar and Sabrina Spellman. Their niece died, sacrificing herself to save the world. It is no comfort for them. For a world without their beloved Sabrina, seems like the end of their own.// The story picks up right during the aunties' last scene in the part 4 finale. Zelda POV //
Relationships: Ambrose Spellman & Hilda Spellman & Sabrina Spellman & Zelda Spellman, Hilda Spellman & Zelda Spellman, Sabrina Spellman & Zelda Spellman
Series: A Lost Niece [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2162277
Comments: 13
Kudos: 42





	The Last Three Spellmans

**Author's Note:**

> This one is for all of us who struggle with the hopelessness that the finale left behind. Not only we are struggling but also our Spellman family. Ambrose, Zelds, and Hildie deserve a little comfort - as do we.  
> Please enjoy!

A couple of days ago, they experienced unimaginable pain.

A couple of days ago, the Spellman sisters and their nephew buried two bodies: The first being Sabrina Morningstar, the Queen of Hell herself, and the other one Sabrina Spellman, a teenager in Greendale and a student at Baxter High and the Academy.

Their niece died, sacrificing herself to save the world.

It is no comfort for them. For a world without their beloved Sabrina, seems like the end of their own.

Whilst separate entities towards their tragic end, from the cradle, right up until their sixteenth birthday, both Sabrinas had grown up with them, and therefore shared the same ups and downs, the same joys and heartaches, the same memories and experiences. At their core they were the same person. Both buried outside the Spellman home. Two big gravestones marked their graves, standing tall next to the Spellmans who had passed before them. 

In the Academy, however, the center of their belief, there is only Sabrina.

One statue.

The split between the Sabrinas was so short that it would only confuse other people. In the end, Sabrina Morningstar was Sabrina Spellman. She always had been.

 _“She looks beautiful, doesn’t she, Hildie?”_ , Zelda asks softly, gazing at the statue of their niece.

The stone Sabrina wears a cheer-outfit, her stance, feisty and determined. A cheerleader by day, Queen of Hell by night, and a witch all around the clock.

 _“Yeah.”_ Hilda manages to say _. “She does.”_

Zelda gazes in adoration at the statue. She is content with the work. It feels right to put Sabrina's similitude in the center of their coven, for everyone to see, for everyone to remember the sacrifice Sabrina had to make for this world. Of course, the statue is mainly for Hilda and her, but she is proud that every single member of the coven can see it as well.

 _“Zelds, uh”_ As soon as Hilda raises her voice, Zelda averts her gaze to her sister. _“I was thinking that Dr. Cee and I ... will probably just move back into the mortuary ‘cause we Spellmans, we should stick together, I think.”_

Hilda’s voice is softer than usual. So weak. So restrained. She fights her emotions, fights the deep feeling of loss that is overtaking her. Her body shakes visibly. 

_“All right.”_

_“Good.”_

_“If you think so.”_

Zelda tries to give Hilda a way-out and to not make her feel forced. At the same time, she is relieved. Having her sister close to her... it seems fitting. The remaining Spellmans under one roof after this horrific event, together through the tough times. 

_“Why?”,_ Zelda exhales in anguish.

Once the word is uttered, all the sadness overcomes her once more. The tears. The grief. The pain. She tries to keep them in, bringing both her hands to her face. No one needs to see her weakness. A sob escapes her nonetheless. She doesn’t want to face the world.

 _“Why did you not preserve her, Dark Mother?”_ Zelda turns towards the other big statue in the room. It’s Hecate herself, the three-in-one. The Maiden, the Mother and the Crone.

 _“I don’t know,”_ Hilda sniffles, trying to keep her emotions at bay and trying not to cry her heart out like Zelda.

_“It’s not right, Hilda. It’s just not right that she’s gone.”_

The hurt inside Zelda overtakes her. The wounds are so fresh, most of the emotions can not even be expressed into words, only jumbled thoughts in her head. She is too overwhelmed by the tears to even fully form words.

 _“No. Right. Let’s go. Come on.”_ Finally, her sister wraps an arm around her and guides her away.

The statue, as beautiful as it is, remains a reminder of their loss.

They teleport back to the house. How Hilda manages to keep it together, to find the strength to cast the spell, Zelda is not sure. It is simply magical to her. One moment she is crying in the halls of the Academy, the next, she hears her sobs echo in the entrance of the mortuary. 

Hilda keeps her right arm wrapped around her elder sister’s body, which feels mostly like bones covered by thin fabric under her sister’s touch. There is not much to her anymore. Eating has not been on her mind lately. It has never been a priority anyway, there have always been more important things to preoccupy her.

“I can’t stop myself crying,” Zelda admits.

The tears still escape, rolling down her cheek as she holds onto her body. She doesn’t bring her hands to wipe the tears away immediately. There’s no point.

“That’s all right. You don’t have to.”

Zelda bows forward as she gasps for air. “It just kills me.” Her voice is so high. Her lungs almost give in.

“I know.”

“I have never-“ She is not able to finish the sentence. The pain becomes too much once she lets herself fall into Hilda’s arm. “I don’t know how-“ She pants. “She’s gone.”

“Let’s have a cup of tea, love. Come on. It will calm the nerves.” Hilda suggests, leading them into the kitchen. A supportive arm around Zelda’s back as her hand soothes over her upper arm. 

Hilda sits Zelda down at her usual space at the kitchen table. As soon as her sister slips away, the tears are more controllable and start to dry down. On her own, she is stronger, more collected.

She watches as Hilda sets the kettle on the stove. She avoids looking to her right, at the spot that used to be Sabrina’s. Instead, she stares across the room and lingers in the silence.

“I don’t know how to recover from this. Or if I ever will.” Zelda says into the big empty room.

“No one’s asking you to do that,” Hilda answers, filling up a teapot.

She comes over with a tray with two china cups on it. Suddenly something becomes clear to Zelda and she puts two and two together.

“The tea - is it why you’ve been so calm?”

Hilda shrugs. “I’m spiking it.”

“Whisky?” Zelda tries to smile weakly. It is her poison. Maybe her sister _does_ take after her.

Out of the many pockets in Hilda’s cardigan, she pulls out a little bottle of herbs.

“Better.”

The label is old and dusty, but Zelda recognizes it. She knows it too well. She looks Hilda in the eyes and wants to point out the risks and the side-effects. They have both seen it with this before.

“Trust me,” Hilda says instead, and it banishes all objections she might have.

“Hmm,” Zelda gives in, nodding in affirmation.

And so Hilda pours a teaspoon of herbs into the teapot and stirs it. A scent, so familiar and almost forgotten, fills the room. It is comforting.

Zelda is slowly shaking her head, unable to find herself able to come to terms with _so_ many things. Her head spins. Maybe the tea will help her but it’s still brewing. It’s not ready yet, so the emotions and thoughts overcome her once again.

“She was our daughter,” Zelda whispers, leaning her elbows on the table so she can bury her face in her hands once again. 

“Yeah.” Hilda answers. Monosyllabic.

Zelda can hear how she fights back the tears as well, and that makes it worse. Hilda’s mourning combined with her own emotions multiplies the grief until it consumes her entirely, and lets her block out everything. 

Hilda sniffles as she slides a cup of tea in front of her. “Here.”

Zelda uncovers her face and stares at the steam rising from the cup. Hilda has already taken a huge gulp of the tea, not minding the temperature. Years of practice from living in England and being a witch; both help with a steaming cup of tea. 

Zelda takes a tiny sip, then another, and exhales. She feels a little calmer, more collected and more herself for a moment. _If only for a moment_. Only to find the effects fade almost immediately, bringing her thoughts back to the source of her pain.

“You know the worst part? I thought...” Zelda is about to reveal some of her more personal thoughts. “When we buried her, I thought she’d resurrect...from the Cain pit soil.” She blinks slowly. “ I kept looking through the window to see if she’d dig herself out of the grave. Like so many Spellmans’ before her. I thought she’d come back.” She bites her lip. “But then she didn’t.” Zelda pauses; her lips quivering as though she was struggling to get the words out. “ Neither of them did.”

“I had prayed for that too,” Hilda says, cradling the cup in her two hands, shaking, staring in front of her.

“We are such fools” Zelda spits viciously now. “We should have put her in the Cain Pit right away, the second she bled out. Teleporting her back here. _Burying_ her. Maybe then we could have had a chance.” She runs her fingers around the cup’s edge. “Instead, we cried, all these people mourning and sobbing – holding us back from _doing_ something.”

“I don’t know if it would have made a difference.”

“We should have tried. Maybe if _I_ _had_ tried harder.” Oh, the tears. Those guilt-filled tears. It plagues her, not able to protect her Sabrina. Her mind flashes back to when she had to cut her niece open. The wound which ultimately killed her.

“Drink, Zelda!” Hilda interjects more forcefully.

Zelda takes a big gulp. A burning feeling as the liquid runs down her throat arises. It takes away some of the images haunting her.

“We’ve lost family before. Close family, we _will_ manage to get through this too. We have to, Sister.”

“It’s different. Mother and father were...” This new wound is so deep, that opening another would be too much. “It was their time. Besides...” She pushes the thoughts of their childhood away, their up-bringing, the mistakes their parents made.

Hilda shakes her head. “I’m talking about Edward. We survived his death, we can survive..” Her niece’s name sticks in her through, forcing her to choke it out. “We will survive Sabrina’s as well.”

“Edward doesn’t compare to this loss. He had so many years, whilst Sabrina had so little time in this realm. Besides, she was not just family, not just our niece. _She was our daughter_ , she was supposed to outlive _us_ , bury _us_ , mourn _us_ , figure out how to live _without us_. Not the other way around.” Her eyes well up again and she pauses to collect herself. “You were there, Hildie, she was at my deathbed. She was there. We both saw the future.”

Hilda’s eyes widen as she takes another sip of the tea.

For a moment, they both sit silently in their thoughts. Maybe even having the same image in their mind, thinking about the events in the other realm, seeing themselves as old crones, remembering an older Sabrina. All grown-up.

“The future changes.” Hilda sighs.

“Does it?” A question with no definite answer. Zelda takes another sip, bigger now that the tea is cooling off.

Hilda pours herself another cup, the tremors in her hands still visible. “We’ll get through this, Sister.” She says, not sure who she is trying to convince more – Zelda, or herself.

“I can’t see how.”

She places the pot down with a loud thud. “No, actually. Me neither.”

“Hilda?” Zelda looks at her sister, surprised by her sudden change of optimism.

“You’re not the only one who lost her. It pains me just as much.”

“I know.”

Hilda’s lower lip trembles. “I want to break down.”

“You can.” Zelda stretches her hand out offering her support. A lifeline to her sister. “Here with me. I’m here.”

“You are not here,” Hilda argues. “You’re in your own grief.”

“Perhaps we can grieve together,” Zelda suggests as she closes her hand around Hilda’s, squeezing it.

“I’d like that.” Hilda returns the gesture.

A comfort of solidarity embraces them. The family kitchen lifts with the new aura of love and support. Zelda pulls at their joined hands and makes them stand up so she can embrace her sister completely, making sure every single fiber of her being registers her presence and support, offering a shoulder to lean on.

“We’ll collect the pieces for one another,” Zelda whispers against Hilda’s blonde hair. So blonde she could mistake it for Sabrina’s soft curls.

“Let Dr. Cee do that for now, for both of us. I reckon we’ll have a hard time quite simultaneously.”

As they loosen their hold, they share a small smile, nodding. It was a little comfort to share the grief. She was not the only one to have lost their Sabrina.

Then another person crosses her mind, all forgotten in her grief, but as close to Sabrina as Hilda and her. The grief clouds her perception, makes her inconsiderate to others and their feelings.

“Where’s Ambrose?”

“I’m here.” A voice announces and a moment later Ambrose enters the room. Dark circles under his bloodshot eyes, baggy clothes on his body, not quite looking fresh and crisp. Sadness clouds his features.

“Were you lurking?” Too often, Ambrose would listen in on conversations. It is rude and not quite acceptable for a 134-year-old man. “How often have I told you-“

“Zelds!” Hilda interrupts with a hiss. “Come here, sweet boy.”

Hilda stretches her arm out so that their nephew could slip into their embrace. Ambrose buries his head in the crook of Hilda’s neck, pressing himself against his auntie.

Zelda instantly feels a painful pang of regret. He suddenly doesn’t look so grown-up and more like a child seeking shelter with his mother. Even more so, when Hilda starts to mumble words of comfort in his ears.

Only for a second, Zelda stands by before she gives in and hugs Ambrose with her whole being. Yes, he was a young man now, a warlock. But he is all that is left of the children. Their children.

How long they have been standing there in each other’s arms, she doesn’t know. Maybe it has only been seconds, maybe a couple of minutes. However long it lasts, it feels good. She feels connected to the little family she has left.

A quiet moment in their sadness, understanding each other without the need to speak. So many words have already been exchanged that it is nice to just be, just to feel her other loved-ones alive under her touch.

Zelda notices Vinegar Tom has joined them. All of her loved ones are here, yet she still feels such a hole inside of her.

“I suppose we don’t have to recap our conversation,” Zelda tries to tease Ambrose when they finally slip out of each other’s arms.

Ambrose drops down on the chair opposite Zelda, his usual spot for family dinners, breakfasts... or discussing plans to stop the next threat on the world. He shakes his head, not quite engaging in their usual banter. He’s more serious, deep in thoughts as he speaks.

“I too go back and think of what I could have done to save her. Way too often I go back and find ways to undo everything, to prevent it. Maybe if I had told you about the two Sabrinas’ right away, then...”

It is not only him who thought about these what-ifs, this one especially.

“We know she had you wrapped around her little finger, you could not have held her back,” Zelda says softly.

The three of them smile, Ambrose and Sabrina were two peas in a pod. Cousins of trouble. Cousins in mischief. Playing tricks on their aunties as children whenever they could get away with it.

The happy memory doesn’t last. It never does. All of their smiles fade from their faces, Hilda’s eyes glance to the ceiling while Zelda clenches her jaw.

“My mind takes me back to when we first found her in the mountains of Madness, maybe I could have... I could have...“ Ambrose cannot form the words, and stumbles over them. He frowns.

“Stop this bloody nonsense right now!”

“Hilda!” Zelda exclaims in surprise.

“No more what-ifs! From you” She jumps up from her seat and points at Ambrose. “Or you! You can be sad, you can be _upset_ like me but no what-ifs. No more what you could have done. Cry! Scream! You can come up with a plan, but no more of this.! She gestures towards their forlorn faces. “Understood?”

This sudden outburst of emotions takes them by surprise. Hilda’s emotions should be calmer now, especially with the amount of tea she had consumed. Maybe her body is immune by now, too much of the tea inside her by now.

“Yes, Auntie.”

“Of course,” Zelda agrees, trying to soothe Hilda but it is no use for now.

“We all know we should have protected her. Everybody in this bloody room knows that. We’ll carry that for the rest of our lives, however long that will be, but we won’t talk about other stupid ‘shoulda, woulda, coulda’s’.”

They silently agree on Hilda’s speech, all of them suddenly feeling the need to avert their gaze. They stare at the empty seat at the table, it would stay empty forever. Or at least until Dr. Cee moves in and they would need to re-arrange the seating arrangement. But who could possibly take Sabrina’s seat? 

“I’d like some of that calming tea.”, Ambrose cuts through the silence. “Please.”

Hilda brushes over her skirt and fetches another cup for Ambrose. “Don’t tell Dr. Cee I do this,” she says when she sets a cup in front of him, shooting a pleading look to Zelda.

“Secret’s safe with me.” Ambrose narrows his eyes.

“Taking it to my grave,” Zelda mumbles dryly.

“Stop that! No one’s ending their lives. Am I clear?” Hilda’s emotions haven’t quite settled as quickly.

“Yes, Auntie” Ambrose immediately answers while Zelda hesitates, looking at the seat to her right and sliding her right hand over the table. No one is there to receive her hand there. Just the chair’s cold backrest peaking over the edge of the table.

“Zelds!”

“... Yeah.” She finally exhales, closing her eyes. She retracts her hand, resting it at her chin.

Now, they all know she has thought about it, thought about the point of life without her joy in it anymore. It is not just Sabrina. Of course, it is mainly Sabrina. But Marie or Baron Samedi, that betrayal, that lie she had been living. It is a lot at once and she cannot deny that Marie’s departure doesn’t play a role in her feelings.

Deep down she knows time will make it better, eventually. Hopefully. Right now, however, a better future seems out of reach.

“We had a life before Sabrina, and we’ll have to have one after. It’s only fair to Sabrina for us to keep going.”

“Even when all of this is unfair,” Ambrose interjects.

“Why do you two make it so hard for me to spread the slightest positivity?”

“Why do we need to be positive at all, Sister? You can stop pretending with us.”

All three of them are hurting, all three of them must be in the same headspace. They could wallow in their loss together, shamelessly, without regrets, without the need to function for anyone.

“I’ll stay alive as long as I have Dr. Cerberus. And after that...I’ll see. So, you two bloody do the same.”

“Aunt Hilda’s order,” Ambrose said, bringing his hand up to a soldier’s pose. “Plus, Aunt Zee, you are needed at the Academy.”

Responsibilities, huge responsibilities are on her plate. Zelda knows she can’t abandon them forever, she cannot just pick and choose what she wants to do. But...

“I don’t have it in me to lead the Order anymore. Or the Academy.”

“Auntie, we need you.”

“I can’t.” Zelda shakes her head adamantly. “Not after this. I have failed Sabrina. But Hecate has failed me as well. She doesn’t deserve my loyalty.”

“Hecate has failed us once, just once, Sister.”

“But it’s the _only_ time it mattered.”

“We would have long been dead without Hecate,” Ambrose argued.

“I would certainly be still in the Cain Pit.”

Zelda gasps, in shock, realizing the horror of what she implied. Hecate came when she had needed her before. That is the reason why it is so hard to comprehend why Hecate had forsaken her. “I’m sorry, Hildie. Without you...”

“You see, you’ve got me,” Hilda reaches for Zelda’s hand. “And Doctor Cee, I know you’re not the best of buddies yet but maybe over time, you can grow a fondness for him. There’s our Ambrose.” Now, Hilda takes Ambrose’s hand. “And your darling, Vinegar Tom.”

Ambrose and Zelda reach out to hold hands. Zelda looks down at her feet, where Vinnie T rests, his head at her ankle.

“I will try.” It would take some time to come back after this, to regain energy to tackle the tasks of High Priestess and Directrix. She enjoyed it in the past but now it seems pointless.

“Let’s get some food in you. Both of you.”

“I’m not hungry.” Zelda’s jaw tightens. It restrains her from taking food in, getting her body to work fully. She prefers her diet to be liquid. In a glass bottle. Her sweet poison.

“You keep saying that. For days now, Zelds.”

“I do not _want_ to eat.”

“It’s not about wanting,” Hilda retorts angrily. “See, that’s giving up!”

Suddenly the mood has shifted in the room. Hilda is still on the edge, clearly something is bothering her.

“Is there something else you want to say, Auntie?” Ambrose asks.

With her hands in fists, her knuckles turning white, Hilda reveals through gritted teeth, “I’m angry. I’m _so_ angry that our Sabrina had to pay the price for everything. Just her, and no one else.” She takes a deep breath, as she rants on. “Then seeing all these people crying at her funeral. Yes, they lost a friend. And it’s tragic to lose a friend. We... We’ve all lost a friend before, we know the feeling. It hurts, but you get over losing a friend. But we- We didn’t just lose a friend. We lost-“

Tears shimmer in her sister’s eyes, but not just sad tears, these are tears of plain anger. Raging as they glisten in Hilda’s eyes.

“Our daughter.” Zelda finishes for her, saying what Hilda is unable to.

“Yes. I’m happy that we could save all these people. Save them from the void, reunite loved ones. But we couldn’t save _our_ family. We are the ones suffering the most. It’s unfair. They all get to be okay, have everyone back in their life but we don’t.”

“I know,” Ambrose says.

Which makes Hilda shake her head guiltily. “I’m sorry to exclude you from this, dear.” She puts a hand on his shoulder. “But this pain I’m describing, it’s Zelda’s and my pain only. Because we are... we are...we’re” Putting her other hand above her heart.

“Her mothers,” Zelda finishes for her again.

Since the funeral Zelda is confident in using this term. Daughter. Mother. Once declared, they forever remain her truth. Aunts and niece. It’s not quite fitting anymore.

“I’m so angry I couldn’t look at them at the funeral. I couldn’t... Because we had to save them all. I said no what-ifs but had we not saved all these other people, making them more important than our Sabrina, then she’d still be alive.”

“What life would that have been for her, Auntie? So many people she cared about lost, knowing it was her fault? It had to be that way, all or nothing.”

“So they get all, while we get nothing?!”

They can’t argue with that, not when Hilda speaks the truth, and says things that they have all been thinking.

Zelda tries to calm her, nonetheless. “Have some more of the tea, Sister.”

“I want to be angry. Because it was our girl, our little girl is gone.” The tears of anger change into tears of sadness again, the calmer set of tears.

“We failed her,” Ambrose agrees.

“We failed Edward. And Diana,” Hilda says. “We failed to protect her.”

Zelda bits her tongue. What Edward said when he returned, even only as part of the Eldritch terror, is still stuck on her mind, and haunts her a little bit. Edward is not Sabrina’s father, not really, not after the few months they had before he died. But to hear that he also doesn’t consider Sabrina as his own hurts. Not only Zelda, but her darling Sabrina was hurt too. There is no need for Ambrose and Hilda to be hurt like that.

“We failed Sabrina, yes. We even failed Diana. I can only hope she meets her in the afterlife, takes care of her now, and is finally the mother to her she was ought to be,” Zelda says, her eyes welling up with tears again. The tears come and go as they please, she has no control over them anymore. She’s a slave to them.

Here it is the sorrow, the anger shared. While they silently weep, they continue sipping tea to calm their nerves. The teapot is big and the cups tiny enough to keep it flowing.

As Ambrose finishes his first cup of tea, Zelda smokes a cigarette. Hilda serves them all a simple supper of baked bread, butter and cheese, force-feeding her two loved ones, the mood settles and is much calmer. The tea and its special ingredient finally unfold their full potential.

Ambrose says, “I would give everything for her to return.”

“Me too,” Hilda agrees.

“Agreed,” Zelda says.

“What’s the point in being a witch when we can’t do anything?” Ambrose asks. “We have to find a way. At least, to contact her, tell her one more time how much we love her.”

“We could summon her,” Hilda says.

Zelda takes a puff of her cigarette, then shaking the ashes off in the crystal ashtray on the table as she ponders the conversation.

“Or will it hurt more when we see her again? Hear her sweet voice?” Zelda asks.

Before they can discuss it some more, Vinegar Tom suddenly starts barking. Their attention is drawn away from the subject, directed to another impossible thought.

“What is it, darling?” Zelda reaches down to her familiar.

“How is that even possible?” Ambrose asks, turning in his seat, looking over his shoulder.

“What?” Hilda squeaked in surprise.

Zelda raises her eyebrows, as she pushes off the seat to have a look behind Ambrose, not quite believing what Vinegar Tom revealed. “Salem?”

“How is he alive?” Hilda asks.

“Aunt Zee, I thought familiars died when their witch passed away.”

“They do. It can take a few hours, sometimes a day. But it’s unusual for it to take much longer than that.”

“He doesn’t seem weak at all,” Ambrose says as he picks the cat up, petting it immediately. The familiar’s purr fills the room, a sound they all thought they would never hear again.

Hilda’s mouth curves into a smile as she runs her fingers over Salem’s head. A genuine smile has become a rare sighting in this house. “A miracle,” Hilda gushes.

Indeed, it is. For how this familiar, this cat is still alive, and not at the end of its life, is inexplicable. Of course, Salem is in pain, like the rest of them, but physically he seems fine, completely happy in getting showered with love by the three Spellmans.

“Or...” Zelda says but then stops herself from uttering the words aloud. She doesn’t say what it could mean. Maybe once spoken aloud, it would burst the bubble.

It is hope.

A couple of days ago, they had faced the unimaginable. It brought them immense pain and made them do things they never expected they’d have to. There had only been sorrow since. They had lost their cousin. Their niece. Their daughter. Their Sabrina.

Now, there is hope. A shimmer of hope following the dark clouds.

Albeit weak. But the weakest of hope is something to hold onto for the last three Spellmans.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading. Comments are appreciated.  
> I found some comfort in writing this story and I worked through my feelings. With that glimpse of hope in the end, I can deal much better. Hopefully it helps you too. xxx


End file.
